feeling at home

23 September 2013

Into the last week of my residency and I am feeling at home. I feel as if the fruit bats are my nocturnal friends, I can hear that the bush chooks are just warning off their mates not someone crying for help, I know the splashing in the toilet bowl is the green frog, he is shy and scared and the spider the size of a side plate is just hunting insects and not me. That whatever was running around the skirting board was probably a mouse. The snake which glided like a stream of molten gold across my path is still outside I hope.

I sleep through the reticulations ons and offs. I am enjoying the sound of the rainbow lorikeets as they leave for work in the morning and return at dusk. Keep an ear out for the magpie geese, an out of tune horn section, as they leave the oval and head somewhere else for the night. I like to see the first kites in the sky at dawn and the last at sunset. I love sitting on my little back porch which is high above the gardens and eat my breakfast before anyone is around and the animal night shift is going to bed. I spy silently on the tourists with maps in hand navigating their way to the bromeliad collection.

 I listen impatiently to the doves that have a lot to say but only one word to say it with. I wait for the hose to be turned on by the bloke who wears a red hat, drives a white ute and waters his patch of community garden each day at wilt o’clock when everything wilts. At this time I find the sound of running water cooling as I have wilted a little too. I recognise the regulars to the gardens  and their dogs. I miss the voices of children if they don’t come with their dads and mums to pick their produce. I like the photographers with back packs of gear photographing everything, a bit like me. I know the click of the gate latch to the Chook Hilton and I know which hen announces she has laid an egg. I am OK that the security guard comes in the night and rattles the door making sure my house is safe. But I worry that he may hear me snoring.